


Close/Comfort

by knowtheway



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, I wrote this a long time ago, Religion Kink, Rough Sex, They barely speak but it’s somehow still overdramatic af, Unhealthy Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23337130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowtheway/pseuds/knowtheway
Summary: Penance session with unresolved feelings.
Relationships: Faustus Blackwood/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81





	Close/Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Um. I wrote this ages ago and found it recently. It’s not really reflective of my current style (there’s almost no dialogue ‘cause I was terrified of getting their voices right), but I don’t hate it and I’ve been wanting to post something this week, so I polished this one up a bit and here we are. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

He always goes first. She’s never questioned him as to why, but somehow he knows she understands. He wants her to punish him with her full strength, to feel the unspoiled fury of her wrath on his back. It’s such a delicious sting and there’s an artistry to her placement of each lash. 

He’s nearing the 17th of 20 blows and gripping the stone wall of the academy cellar, he grunts loudly when the next one hits at the small of his back. She knows he’s sensitive there and the devilish little minx wants to make sure his penance sinks in correctly. She’s never asked what his sins are, though he’s grateful she doesn’t. There are a few he wouldn’t mind sharing... Zelda is just devoted enough not to break the confidentiality of confession with her high priest, but there are still some things better left unspoken. No one need hear that despite his impassioned sermons and pious posturing, his faith is waning to near non-existence. Has been for some time now.

It’s not uncommon amongst leaders within the clergy to doubt their faith. Being engrossed in it every second of every day allows the flaws within to become all the more visible and it subsequently becomes more and more difficult to dismiss them with time. He’s certain his predecessor felt the same. Edward’s ideas of grandeur for reforming the Church until it was almost unrecognizable... it wreaks of a man desperate for the comfort of certainty again.

He understands that first-hand now. And he has his own plans for reformation... except where Edward saw certainty in the untried and unknown, Faustus sees it in the glory of the past (with a few wise edits, of course). But he knows there will be resistance. There always is. And amongst his greatest sins is that of knowing he will abandon the church should they fail to adapt. He respects the Dark Lord, is grateful for the power he’s honored him with, but he cannot help feeling stifled. There is so much more for him... he cannot have the world laid at his feet and not be allowed to take it.

He doesn’t _want_ to betray his faith, his people, and the only life he’s ever known. He just can’t go on like this forever - clearly Edward couldn’t, either. But something keeps him hopeful and patient as it is now, makes his roots seep a little deeper into Greendale each Sunday. And all the many Sundays prior to him being named high priest... he stayed, served a man he resented diligently, and denied himself of accepting the reason why for decades.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears her calling him by his title softly, and he realizes the last lash was given several moments ago.

Her questioning look fades when he breathes out a quiet ‘thank you’ for her work, the cold air of the cellar licking painfully (reverently) at his wounds. She answers with a quiet nod, a pure vision of eager submission as she offers him the crop.

Her addresses her as ‘Sister’ and gestures for her to take his place against the wall. She’s in her lingerie and - still heaving from his punishment - he lets himself wonder if the delicate lacy bodice was a choice she made for him specifically. It’s certainly more extravagant than necessary, but then Zelda has always been her own brand of extravagant.

“Your Excellency,” she says low once she reaches the wall, looking at him over her shoulder, “Would you help me?” Her eyes flicker towards the fastenings of her bodice and now he is _certain_ the choice was made for him. Nodding with a polite smirk, he walks behind her.

Once he’s comfortably close, he watches her eyes close and hears her breath hitch when gathers her hair in his fingers and sweeps it over her shoulder. Her lips part and she just barely opens her eyes, her palms laying against the stone for support.

Her porcelain skin is absolutely tantalizing as he reaches for the top knot of her bodice, his lips so close to the nape of her neck that he feels his own warm breath bounce off of her sweet flesh. He’s been hard since they arrived here, but drinking her in this close, feeling her warmth, and breathing in her intoxicating scent has his trousers becoming uncomfortably tight.

He’s halfway done with the fastenings when it finally overcomes him and his lips find her neck. She gasps in surprise, freezing like a startled deer, but then moans softly as he nips lightly at her ear.

“Father,” she whispers in a shaky tone, “Father, I haven’t served my penance yet.”

“Hush,” he murmurs reassuringly against her shoulder, his fingers quickly undoing the last of her fastenings and then grinding himself firmly into her backside. She suppresses a whimper and the sound of it has him pulling the material down and off of her rougher than intended.

She stumbles a bit from the force of it and he rests a hand on her lower back to steady her, his other snaking around her front, and he notices that she’s wincing. Eyes traveling down her back, he sees the marks from their last session painted all across her skin, as inflamed and angry as if they had been freshly placed.

“Oh, my dear,” he marvels, gently caressing the marks as she looks at him shamefully. She was meant to heal herself at the end of their last meeting, they both always are - there is a balance to penance and one cannot appreciate the discipline of the Dark Lord if they cannot also appreciate the pleasure of his gifts, which simply cannot be done under prolonged suffering.

“My darling,” he whispers tenderly, the endearment escaping his lips before he can catch himself and then he’s tilting her chin up to examine the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Dropping the cat o nine tails to the cellar floor, he kisses her, pulling her back against his chest and swallowing the hiss of pain she lets out when he does. Hands frantically pushing down at her panties, she begs for his assurance that she’s not disappointed him nor the Dark Lord, and he swears the desire to consume her is more intense than any feeling he’s felt before.

Undoing the zip of his trousers, he frees himself quickly and then grabs hold of her again, his hands coming up to cup her breasts as he buries his face in her hair. “Never,” he rasps out and she sighs gratefully, all at once becoming supple in his arms. Anticipation turning quickly into desperation, he steps them almost flush against the wall, arms secure around her waist. With a slight bend of his knee, he enters her roughly, relishing her sweet cry at the sudden intrusion.

He’s been delightfully reminded these past few days just how perfectly the curves of her fit into him, how soft she feels, and how every noise she makes is so beautifully timed it’s as if she could read his every desire. It was always that way with Zelda and it’s not necessarily that he’d forgotten - Satan knows the number of lonely nights he remembered her with himself in hand - but the way she arches her back and whines his name so sweetly at his touch... dear Lucifer, nothing else has ever felt so  _right_.

He holds her throat loosely so that her head rests on his shoulder, his fingers working in tight circles over her clit, and he fucks her harder and faster as her body winds tight and tense, ready to burst into ecstasy in his arms. He feels a flutter in his chest the way he always he has at the thought of being the source of her pleasure and the memories of their past are overwhelming him so that it’s becoming difficult to distinguish where their long ago intimacy stopped and began again.

He lets out a strangled noise that reflects his inner confusion and frustration and then finds himself kissing her deep and passionate and not at all like a high priest would to his congregate, rather something much more, but he can’t be bothered to care because she’s returning it with equal fervor and her legs are shaking and fucking Satan in hell, he’s missed this so much. He just wants her to come undone for him like she used to and - thrusting sharply into her once more, his fingers rubbing erratically over her clit - she does, breaking their kiss to gasp wildly as her core spasms hard on his cock.

He holds her in place, moving inside her at just the right angle to draw out her pleasure. While she comes down from it, desperately chanting his name in hushed frantic whispers, he rains kisses across her jaw and face.

It’s so perfect. She’s always been so perfect for him and the tug of the tide he’s always felt in her presence is pulling him farther and farther out so that he can do little more than drown. He’s all too happy to drown in her.

The still-tight clench of her cunt has him just on the edge of his release and dear Satan, he wants to come inside her so badly. She’s trembling so beautifully in his arms and a wave of possessiveness makes him embrace her tighter, thrust into her harder, but if there is one rule to penance of the flesh, it’s that procreation is strictly forbidden. These sessions are offerings to the Dark Lord and risking creation of another life implies a selfishness that in this context is reprehensible.

The flesh is cunning, though (as is the heart, but he will plainly not acknowledge that) - screaming a reminder of the desire from his younger life to be entwined with her - to bind them together through blood and bone. He had a vision once of her swollen with his child, carrying their joined legacy, and it felt so real at the time, he was sure it was destined to happen. He counted on it.

It never did. And it’s not necessarily that it will now, either, but he wrestles with his intention as she leans back into him, wraps her hand around the back of his neck and looks at him earnestly, almost desperately.

He’s so close to coming, wound so tight, and before he can stop himself, he hears himself ask her permission to which she answers a breathless “yes.” Gripping hard at her hips, he buries himself deep inside her, fills her with his seed, flooding her core with several shallow thrusts and groaning so loud it echoes across the stone walls around them.

He holds her longer than he has in quite some time, letting his hands roam freely as if she were his, turning her in his arms after pulling out of her to continue kissing her, squeezing her, and savoring her. She seems in no rush to stop him, even guiding his hand back down to her freshly fucked cunt so he can feel himself dripping out of her and encouraging his possessive growl against her neck from it.

It aches when he finally lets her go, but he does his best to hide it, zipping up his trousers and reaching for his previously discarded shirt. For now, it’s necessary they be inconspicuous and that he resign himself to small tastes of her at a time. But much like many decades ago, the hunger for her is bound to overtake him and if that means searching for any excuse to keep her closer to him, well... he’s rather good at finding reason where others don’t.

Near fully dressed, he picks up the cat o nine tails from the ground and takes his handkerchief to it as Zelda does the last buttons of her blazer, sighing heavily.

“If I had known this style of Satanic confession was an option for Church of Night members, I’d have taken it up years ago... “

**Author's Note:**

> Bit all over the place, really, but the twisted tenderness and ambiguous intimacy of Spellwood in part 1... ugh, kinda miss it.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
